


Right Where It Begins

by fastestmanalive



Series: Barryoliver Week 2015 [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, stripper!Barry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fastestmanalive/pseuds/fastestmanalive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Barry meets the mysterious Oliver at his place of work - a strip club - he's immediately intrigued. It's definitely not made better when, after their awkward first contact, Barry starts seeing him everywhere he goes. Little does Barry know, meeting Oliver will turn his life upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> soooo this is my contribution for this year's The Flash Big Bang :)  
> this one was a piece of work but now I guess I'm pretty content with it. y'all are gonna hate me in the end lmao  
> BIIIIIIG THANKS to my lovely beta [barryolivers](http://archiveofourown.org/users/barryolivers/works) who let me whine and cry and cheered on me and is basically the best person in the world i love u so much  
> special shout out to [SwiftEmera](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftEmera/works) who took the time to read this and give me her impression. sorry for making you cry!!
> 
> this was written for a Big Bang, meaning that there is art accompanying this fic. you can find a wonderful video based off this story [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypT84F2GpHw). beware: there are some major spoilers for the rest of the fic!!  
> I'm going to try to post a chapter every two or three days (or maybe I'll leave more time between chapters if you guys want?? idk)
> 
> disclaimer: I don't own The Flash, Arrow, or any of the characters - unfortunately, because if I did everyone would be openly queer and happy about it. (do I sound bitter?)  
> title from Is There Somewhere? // Halsey

There isn't really anything that surprises Barry anymore.

He feels like he's seen it all – he knows people, he knows how the world works, money, careers, family. He doesn't think the universe can throw anything unexpected at him.

That is, until he has to take over one of his colleagues' shift at the club.

It's not like he minds, he doesn't have anything else planned anyway, but he was already looking forward to a quiet evening with Netflix and a bottle of wine.

Barry can't let his annoyance show, of course not, that'd be bad for business and he really can't afford Wells getting mad at him  _ again _ , so he puts on his uncomfortably tight shorts and makes his way into the bar space.

He waits tables tonight, but if he's honest with himself he'd rather be up on stage, dancing. He loves the attention, the freedom of expression, and it's not like customers are allowed to  _ grope  _ him. He never lets clients take him to the champagne room – he has his boundaries, after all – but he can handle some touching. If someone goes too far, they're out.

About an hour into his shift more and more people start to leave. Barry knows it'll be about half an hour until the club is full again, just in time for the next show.

There are only a few people left, another waiter, two bartenders, and-- a patron? It's weird, because Barry could swear this guy has been here since before his shift began, yet he's still not leaving. He's been ordering too many drinks to be healthy but doesn't look particularly inebriated.

The guy must have felt his eyes on him because suddenly he looks up from his empty glass, catching Barry's gaze with an intense look. Barry finds himself not being able to look away; he should, he  _ really  _ should, this man is a  _ customer _ , but he  _ can't _ . There's something--

“Allen,” Eddie hisses from behind the bar, making Barry startle and turn around. Eddie nods his head in the direction of the man. “Go ask him if he wants another drink. He's our best customer tonight.” Barry blushes, hoping the bartender won't see in the dimly lit club, and nods.

The man's eyes follow his every step. Usually more graceful when he's here, Barry now almost trips over his own feet, trying to cover it by swinging his hips, hoping the man will be distracted by it.

“What can I get you?” Barry keeps his voice low, bites his lower lip and releases it, knowing it'll be slightly red and plump.

The man's eyes flit down to his mouth, just as Barry knew they would –  _ people are so predictable _ , he thinks, grinning to himself.  “Vodka,” the man says after a moment, voice gruff and heavily accented – he has to be from Russia, Barry thinks, or Ukraine. But, if he's honest with himself, he really couldn't give less of a fuck – the voice sends a shiver through his body, all dark and sultry, paired with the man's intense eyes, and his  _ accent _ , God, don't even get him started on that.

Their fingers brush for a moment when Barry takes the empty glass the man offers him, sending tiny sparks up Barry's arm. He lingers, catching the man's gaze once more. He'd love to stay here – just stay and look at the man and ask him questions so he might speak in that voice again – but Eddie's already calling for him. He shrugs and gives the man a small smile. “I'll be right back with your drink.” He gets a nod in response, paired with a flash of tongue when the man licks his lips. Barry tries for a smirk but thinks it comes out unsure, wobbly. He quickly turns and practically runs back to the bar.

  
  


A short while later, people start filing into the club again. The man is still in his seat, doesn't seem to mind other patrons sitting at his table and chattering, still directing his intense stare towards Barry. And yeah, Barry  _ should  _ probably be a little freaked out about that – he usually is – but this is  _ different _ . He knows it is, even though he has no explanation for it.

He takes a short break and goes backstage to help Ronnie put on his make-up – he's relatively new and  _ horrible  _ at creating his stage persona.

When he leaves Ronnie's dressing room he overhears Cisco saying, “Dude, you  _ can't  _ have a dance from him, sorry.” Curious, he follows the direction of his voice, stopping in his tracks for a moment when he hears a gruff Russian accent.

“I have money--”

“Sorry, no can do. He's off limits.”

When Barry rounds the corner they both look at him – Cisco bites his lip anxiously, and the man from earlier looks a bit... awed? His eyes sweep over Barry's face, making him blush a little.

“Is there a problem?” He hopes they can't hear the breathless note in his voice.

“This guy wants a dance from you. I told him n--”

“No,” Barry interjects immediately, trying to keep his voice light. Cisco startles in surprise. “I mean. Yes. That's fine.” He gives the stranger a smirk. “Come on, darling, let's go.”

  
  


Barry feels awkward when he closes the door and turns around to see the man sit down on the plush red sofa, looking around the room with a blank face. He only paid for one song, less than other patrons usually want, but it's fine with Barry. It's not like he's ever been in this position, he's glad when he doesn't screw up and scare the man away. That thought is scary to  _ him _ .

Barry walks over to the glittery metal pole, wraps a sure hand around it, smirks in the general direction of the man – this part he's familiar with, he knows what to do, how to get people to spend more money on him than they intend to.

Barry starts swaying his hips slowly when the first notes sound from the speakers, licking and biting his lip briefly before releasing it again. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, the sound of the sultry music washing over him, vibrations streaming through his body, making it shiver.

After a few beats, he starts walking towards the sofa, the man's eyes following him the whole time. Barry stops just inches from him and leans forward, puts his knees up on either side of the man's thighs, bracing his arms on the backrest and ducking his head. He avoids the man's eyes – they're too blue, too intense, too open, he's afraid they'll break him. Suddenly they're close, breathing the same air, Barry's hips moving on their own accord, their noses almost touching.

“You can touch me,” Barry whispers when he sees the man's clenched hands on his thighs. “It's okay, darling.” He's not even looking at Barry's body, keeps his eyes on his face the entire time, trying to catch his gaze.

“No,” the man mumbles, eyes widening. Barry frowns a little – usually patrons are falling over themselves to touch him – but keeps rotating his hips, careful not to get too close to the man's groin.

“You're a little shy, huh?” Barry teases, no malice behind it. “It's fine,” he breathes, slowing his movements.

The man shakes his head, though. “Stop,” he says gruffly, making Barry startle in shock. “Sit.” The man gestures at the empty spot next to him; it's worded like a command but his voice is unsure, questioning, giving Barry a choice. He's so surprised he can't help but comply.

The man looks down at his hands and, if the light isn't playing tricks on Barry's eyes,  _ blushes _ . Barry can't help but stare at him, forgetting for a moment where they are. The music doesn't exactly fill the awkward silence.

The clearing of a throat almost makes Barry jump. “What is your name?” the man asks quietly, with a strong accent.

_ Would that make him more relaxed?  _ Barry thinks to himself. He looks at the wall clock. They only have a few more minutes, so he decides to humour the man.

“It's--” he stops, chuckling to himself quietly. The man looks up. “It's Flash.” The man purses his lips; clearly he didn't get the answer he wanted. “What's your name, sweetheart?” Barry strokes a hand down the man's arm, watches as he relaxes under the touch. He can't help but smile.

“Oliver,” is the quiet response, accompanied by a nod of the head.

Barry wants to test how it sounds coming out of his mouth over and over again but restrains himself. “So, Oliver...” His hand wanders a bit lower. “We still have a minute or two. Want me to make it worth your money?”

Oliver's face twitches in discomfort – Barry snatches his hand away  _ immediately _ , the last thing he wants is to make Oliv--  _ his clients  _ uncomfortable – and he shakes his head. “I don't-- I'm--” He seems to struggle to find the right words, eventually giving up with a sigh. “No,” Oliver says simply.

Barry frowns. He's never...  _ never  _ encountered someone like Oliver. The guy had come here, to a  _ strip club _ , to drink and pay a small fortune for a private dance that he clearly doesn't want anyway. Barry doesn't  _ get it _ –  why would someone go through the trouble? Is Oliver one of those people who actually hate what Barry does, and is he here to ridicule him, to judge him? If that's the case, why would he pay for a private dance first?

“I have to go,” Oliver's voice brings him out of his stream of thoughts. His eyes are on the clock on the wall, and he suddenly looks nervous, restless. He stands up and turns to Barry. “You are...” Barry raises his brows. “You--” Oliver sighs again and shakes his head. “Thank you,” is what he finally settles on.

Barry's shoulders slump; he'd expected – what? Oliver doesn't owe him anything, just like he doesn't owe Oliver. They made a business transaction, Oliver didn't want what Barry offered, it's a done deal.

Still, he can't help but feel disappointed when Oliver leaves Barry behind, slightly sweaty and breathless and clad in nothing but tiny glitter shorts, in the champagne room.

There isn't much that surprises Barry anymore, but this... Oliver is definitely a surprise, one that hit Barry in the chest like a pile of bricks.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoooo Barry is so tiny and awkward someone stop this child  
> I hope you all enjoy this one :)

Barry tries not to think about it – about _him_ – anymore. He barely recognises himself these days; it's bad enough that he let someone pay for a private dance from him (which he vowed to never do when he started, and now he'd broken that promise to himself), but he can't stop _thinking_ about the guy. It's totally cliché, and maybe also a bit naïve, but he feels like Oliver is _different_ from all those other men – perverts, the lot of them – coming into the club. Maybe it's true. Maybe he's imagining it, wanting to believe it because Oliver is so goddamn attractive. _Maybe_ he just can't stop thinking about that intense gaze that made his entire body feel warm and cold at the same time – it wasn't predatory, like the other patrons', but curious, interested – in _him_ , in his thoughts and feelings.

Now, Barry realises it _is_ naïve to think like that, to think that Oliver might see him as more than his body. There doesn't have to be a complex reason why he didn't want a dance – he could've changed his mind, or simply not been in the mood for it after all.

But Barry likes to think that it was more complicated than that, that maybe Oliver had seen _him_ , not just his appearance.

When Wells found out he'd been _persuaded_ to a private dance by a client – Cisco's words, not Barry's – he gave Barry time off without much explanation. Too much time. Time that Barry didn't have before and doesn't know what to do with now. He can only read so many books before getting bored at the repetitive storylines, he's not really the type for working out, he doesn't feel like jogging because he only knows two routes and he'll definitely meet too many people he knows and has to chat with them and-- no. So he does what he always does when he has some spare time – he hangs out at Jitters with his best friend Iris, who works there.

It's a relatively busy day, customers constantly streaming in and out of the shop, and Barry's lucky to have a small table to himself, from where he can observe the hustle and bustle in peace with his cup of coffee and his scone. Iris comes by his spot every now and then to refill his cup and make him order drinks and pie for her because “you owe me, Bar, we haven't seen each other in two weeks because you've been ' _busy_ '”. Barry complies, doesn't offer any explanations – she doesn't know what he does for a living, of course not, he'd told her and everyone he knows that he works out of town, which is _technically_ true. They just don't know he works in a strip club, not for a big pharmacy corporation.

It's not like they _need_ to know, anyway. It's Barry's life, it's his choice, and he's not ashamed of it, it's just... Well, people can get judgemental. And mean. And could see him in a different light. He wants to avoid that at all costs. He couldn't bear having his family – his foster father, Iris, his dad, his mom, wherever she might be – think badly of him. So, he pretends to have a sophisticated job, a life outside of it with hobbies and friends and everything, all to make them happy. Which might make someone think he's bitter but really, he's just glad they're okay. Well, as okay as his dad can be behind bars.

Iris startles him out of his peaceful people-watching mindspace, comes up behind him with wide eyes, a hint of glee in them. “Hot guy at 11 o'clock checking you out.”

Barry's frown turns into his jaw dropping when he turns his head and sees Oliver, of all people, stand in the door, an equally shocked expression on his face.

“Shit,” he can't stop himself from mumbling. “Shit, I- I know him. What's he--”

“What?!” Iris whisper-shouts, rolling her eyes when Barry shushes her. “How could you _not_ tell me about him? I'm taking your scones away for that.”

Barry quickly holds the plate to his chest protectively, effectively crushing a pastry. “Don't you dare,” he mock-glares at her. “It's just--”

“Is he bothering you?” Iris is suddenly in full concerned-mother-hen mode. “Do you want me to kick him out? Because I will.” Barry doesn't doubt that, but he doesn't want Iris literally beating someone up just for making him a little nervous.

“It's fine,” he shrugs her off. “Just... awkward. I can deal with awkward.”

Iris huffs out a laugh, relief clearly visible on her face. “I don't know if you can 'deal with awkward',” she makes air quotes with her fingers, “but you're certainly used to it. Still, I'll keep an eye on the guy.”

Barry mutters a “thanks” before he can put his foot in his mouth again.

Oliver is looking around awkwardly as soon as he has his drink, eyeing the only free table in the café - which happens to be next to Barry’s. He catches Barry’s eye, raising his brows in a silent question. Barry gulps down his fear and, after a moment of hesitation, nods.

He watches as Oliver walks toward him gingerly, fiddles with a napkin and burns his tongue on the coffee Iris had refilled. Oliver doesn’t really give any indication that he knows him - either he’s pretending, for his own and Barry’s sake, or he’s really forgotten him. Which Barry doesn’t really think is true, judging from Oliver’s expression when he saw him, but still… anything’s possible.

Now, Barry’s mouth has always been faster than his brain. That’s why he needs to be so careful when he’s working, so he doesn’t say something inappropriate or offensive that’ll send the customers running. But he’s not working now, so of course he doesn’t think before he blurts out a “Hi!” when Oliver is sitting down.

Oliver startles, looking at him with wide eyes, and Barry can feel all the blood in his body rushing to his cheeks. He’s sure he looks like a tomato, and his stammered _uh_ s and _uhm_ s don’t make the situation any better.

“Hello,” Oliver replies quietly and gives him a small, unsure smile. Barry tries to return it, certain his face is like a grimace instead.

His eyes follow Oliver’s hand as it reaches into his bag and pulls out a textbook, putting it down next to his cup carefully. Before Barry can stop himself, he comments, “You’re learning English?”

If even possible, Barry’s blush intensifies. Oliver, however, seems to try to hide a smile.

“Yes,” he replies. “I’m not good.”

“I-- Well, it’s good you’re trying. I don’t think I could. I’ve never liked languages in school, it’s too much-- But that’s good. That you’re trying to get better, I mean. It’s great,” Barry babbles without looking at Oliver, fumbling with his napkin again.

“Thank you,” Oliver replies quietly before clearing his throat and opening his book.

Barry can feel Iris’ eyes on him, observing the scene silently. He resists the urge to look over to her and focuses on his coffee again, blowing on it before taking a sip. His eyes flit to Oliver over the rim of his cup; he has a look of deep concentration on his face, tapping his pen against the table a few times before writing something in his book. Barry swallows thickly and looks down at his half-eaten scone; he feels ashamed for even thinking it, but what if Oliver tells someone - what if he tells _Iris_ \- how they really know each other?

Like a creep, Barry waits for Oliver to finish what he’s doing before he leaves as well, yelling a “Bye!” to a confused Iris and running to catch up with Oliver, who’s just walking out the door and is about to round the corner.

“Wait!” he calls; to his surprise Oliver actually does stop and turn around, and Barry, caught in surprise, runs into him - literally.

Oliver’s open bag slips from his shoulder, the contents cluttering on the ground; Barry almost loses his balance but is held upright by two hands holding onto his biceps. Oliver’s looking at him with wide eyes, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown. “Are you okay?” he asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Yeah,” Barry pants and wiggles out of his grip to kneel on the ground, starting to collect Oliver’s things. “I’m so sorry about this, I- I just- here.” He hands Oliver a small booklet that looks like a passport. Oliver grabs it quickly and stuffs it into his bag. He raises a brow at Barry, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag as if he’s scared Barry might knock it down again. Barry blushes, ducking his head and clearing his throat. “Sorry, I just--” He takes Oliver’s arm, letting go when he flinches - he wants to say something, _apologise_ , ask if he’s okay, but the look on Oliver’s face tells him he won’t get an answer. He gestures to a small alley, waits for Oliver to nod before sneaking into the darkness; Oliver follows and leans against the brick wall. “Sorry, I- You were leaving without… I mean.” He stops mid-sentence. Oliver’s frowning at him now, looking confused but intrigued, if Barry’s eyes aren’t playing tricks on him.

“I just… Listen, you- you didn’t tell anyone, did you? About how we met?” he whispers, taking a step closer so Oliver can hear him. Oliver’s eyes flit between Barry’s, almost as if he wants to see if he’s hiding something. If there’s an ulterior motive. _But… why would he think that?_ Barry wonders. He shakes his head to clear his mind of ridiculous thoughts.

“I did not tell anyone,” Oliver eventually replies, voice equally hushed so Barry has to lean closer. He catches a whiff of Oliver’s cologne, something spicy and citrus-y, and tries not to look like a pervert when he sniffs it imperceptibly. “I wouldn’t,” Oliver adds quietly.

Barry bites his lip when Oliver’s piercing blue eyes meet his and an uncomfortable silence settles between them. Barry steps back, leans his back against the opposite wall, crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously.

“So,” Barry clears his throat again after a few minutes because he can’t take this anymore, it’s too awkward, just staring at Oliver without saying anything. “Why did you decide to keep it to yourself? I mean, me being-- You have nothing to lose, I mean.”

Oliver frowns. “I paid money to see you get naked.”

Barry barks out an embarrassed laugh and hopes Oliver won’t see his red cheeks - and seriously, when did he become so flustered around people? “No one will judge _you_ , though. Me, on the other hand.... I _get naked_ for money. People don’t like that. Sooo.... You could’ve told everyone. I’d be a social pariah by now.”

Oliver’s frown deepens. “Par--?”

“Oh.” Barry gives him an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t… I’d be an outsider now. Hated by everyone.”

With a small shake of his head, Oliver replies, “I would not do that.”

“I know,” Barry whispers and bites the inside of his cheek. “I was just--”

“I have to go,” Oliver interrupts, looks at his watch and adjusts his bag before giving Barry one last look. “Sorry that it was weird. I will not come back to the cafe.”

“Oh, no, uh--” Barry struggles to find words as he follows Oliver out of the alleyway. “It’s fine. It’s a free country, you can go wherever you want.”

Oliver raises his brows at him again - and that should not be as attractive as Barry finds it - and sighs. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Barry echoes. “Uhm. Bye?”

The corners of Oliver’s mouth lift in what is almost a smile - Barry counts it as a win. “Goodbye.”

Barry watches him walk away and waits until he’s out of sight before walking back to Jitters to face the music. He can practically _smell_ Iris’s curiosity and the looming interrogation already.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who has commented so far, it's really encouraging to read all your nice words considering how much work I put into this. makes me want to keep writing :)  
> this one's a bit short so I'll try to update tomorrow

After another week of boredom and long days at Jitters, Wells finally lets Barry come back to work. He’s only allowed to wait tables for the time being - Barry doesn’t get why Wells is so _pissed_ at him, the others do worse things all the time, and anyway, he was completely in control of the situation but Wells won’t _listen_ \- but it’s better than sitting at home or the coffee shop doing nothing. At least he’s working again, at least he gets to see Eddie, at least he has something to do. He hates to admit it but his life is more boring than he’d like it to be.

He’s about to finish his shift when he spots a familiar face in the audience, looking disinterested, as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Barry puts the tray he’s holding on the bar counter forcefully, startling Eddie out of his thoughts.

“Whoa. Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Barry mumbles as he watches Oliver take a sip of his drink. “Why the hell is he back?” he can’t stop himself from asking.

Eddie shrugs. “He comes here every few days. Doesn’t really do much but drink. Doesn’t even want a lap dance or anything. It’s pretty weird.” When Barry raises his brows at him, Eddie holds up his hands. “This is a strip club, Bar. This is what people _do_ here. He can go to a normal bar if he just wants to get drunk.”

Barry bites his lip. “Hm. Maybe.” Something about what Eddie’s saying isn’t sitting right with him. “He can- He can stay here though, right? He’s not bothering anyone, I mean.”

Eddie goes back to wiping the counter. “Sure, whatever. He’s not harassing anyone as far as I know.” He glances up at Barry, who’s fiddling with the edge of his tray. “Think he’s lonely?”

Barry almost sends the tray crashing to the floor; Eddie’s fast reflexes save him from embarrassment and having to stay late to clean up.

Eddie looks at him with wide eyes, setting the tray behind him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, uhm. Yes. I’m fine.” Barry gives him a small smile. “How- how should I know if he’s lonely?” Just thinking about it makes Barry feel… things. “I don’t know. I don’t- I don’t even know his name, I--”

“Oooooooh-kay,” Eddie says calmly. “I didn’t think you would. It was a rhetorical question, Bar. Are you sure you’re--?”

“Yes, peachy. Everything’s- My shift is over. I’m leaving now.”

With that, Barry quickly goes to the wardrobe and puts on some clothes - he suddenly feels exposed, tries to cover up as quickly as possible and get out of here.

The universe must hate him, because as soon as Barry leaves the club through the back door Oliver walks past and stops dead in his tracks when Barry slams the door shut.

“Uhm,” Barry says before he can stop himself. “Hi.”

Oliver nods in greeting and buries his hands in his coat pockets; Barry fumbles with his scarf. He should’ve just gone back inside and waited a few minutes until the coast was clear.

“I’m not stalking you,” Oliver suddenly blurts out, making Barry look up from where he’s staring at his shoes.

“Oh, uh,” he answers intelligently. “No, I- I wasn’t thinking that.”

Oliver nods again, a hint of embarrassment in his otherwise neutral expression. “I wasn’t here for you,” he adds.

Barry’s not disappointed. He’s _not_. That would be… ridiculous. Absolutely-- “Oh. Yeah, no, I know. I mean. Did you… have fun?” He bites his tongue to get himself to shut up.

Oliver shrugs and looks away. “Yes.”

It’s just about the least enthusiastic response Barry would have expected from someone who’s just been to a strip club. Then again, he had already gathered that Oliver wasn’t like the other men who went there in any way.

“Good,” he mumbles and shuffles his feet a little to stay warm. “That’s, uhm. I should go before I pass out here.”

“You are passing out?” Oliver raises his brows, and Barry wants to believe that he sounds slightly concerned. He can’t help a small, deprecating smile.

“I’m just… tired. Gotta go home, get some sleep.”

Oliver hums in reply and looks down at the ground, crunching his teeth. “Be careful. It’s late. There are bad people in this city.”

Barry has the strange feeling that Oliver includes himself. Also, strangely, he’s not scared one bit. “I know. I’m taking a cab, I’ll be fine.”

Oliver glances up at him and bites his lip. “Good. I will see you--” He stops to shake his head. “No. I’m sorry. This is--” Letting out a frustrated huff, he takes a step back.

“It’s okay,” Barry says quietly. “You can-- I mean, I’m not stopping you from coming back, you know? It’s- It’s a free country.” He’s aware that he’s repeating himself, but Oliver seems to think he can’t go anywhere where he might meet Barry. Which- okay, so it’s always awkward and a little uncomfortable, but honestly? Barry’s fine with it. He’s still got a feeling about Oliver that he can’t shake; he’s intrigued, to say the least.

Oliver hums in reply. “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Barry replies, forcing a small smile on his lips. Oliver seems to tense for a moment before raising his hand briefly and turning to leave. Barry watches him with a sigh, leaning against the cold metal door, suddenly even more exhausted than before.

He’s not really thinking when he calls a cab and gives the driver Caitlin’s address.

Caitlin opens the door immediately, frowning at the sight of Barry. “Hi?” she says, looking at her watch. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Barry grins tiredly. “You’re still up, aren’t you?”

Caitlin huffs. “Still, would’ve been nice if you’d called first. I could’ve been busy.” She steps aside to let Barry in.

“You’re always busy,” Barry mumbles as he brushes past her. “If I waited ‘til you’re not busy anymore I’d never get to see you.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Caitlin’s face - Barry counts it as a win. He sits down on Caitlin’s couch and accepts the cup of tea she hands him. She lets him take a sip before clearing her throat.

“So. What brings you here in the middle of the night?” she asks with a knowing grin; _screw you_ , Barry thinks with no real malice behind it. How would she even know--? “Oh, come on, Barry,” she teases, shoving at his shoulder. “I’ve known you for years. Something’s bothering you. Or some _one_.” She smiles softly when Barry’s cheeks flush. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing--”

“Barry,” Caitlin interrupts him, eyebrows raised. “Spill.”

Feeling defeated, Barry heaves a sigh and starts telling Caitlin about Oliver. He doesn’t mention where they met, of course, Caitlin doesn’t even know about his profession, just that he… has a feeling about him.

When he’s finished, Caitlin squeezes his arm. “You know Iris is better at these things, right?” She shakes her head fondly - at least Barry’d like to think it’s fond, but she’s probably more exasperated than anything. “I don’t know what to tell you.” She shrugs. “You mentioned you’ve run into him randomly twice?”

Barry hums. “He’s assured me he’s not stalking me.” He bites his lip to hide a smile. “He seemed… really worried. It was kinda cute.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Caitlin grins, making Barry’s blush deepen. “Well, maybe you’ll run into him again. Seems a lot like fate wants you two to interact.”

Barry snorts. “Since when do you believe in fate?”

“It’s late. I’m tired.” She pulls her legs up to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. “Who knows, maybe you two could be--”

“I don’t even know him,” Barry mutters, wiping down his face with his hand.

“Buuuuut… you like him anyway,” Caitlin interjects.

Barry shrugs and looks away, taking another gulp of tea. “Can I stay over?”

With another sigh, Caitlin gets up. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

Barry takes a pillow and makes himself comfortable on the sofa, smiling softly when Caitlin puts a blanket around his shoulders.

“It’s gonna be fine,” she whispers.

**Barry catches her hand and squeezes briefly before letting go. “Good night.”**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's getting interesting...  
> don't forget to watch the video based off this story [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypT84F2GpHw) (spoiler warning for the rest of the fic though!!)

Weeks pass before Barry sees Oliver again.

He’s almost forgotten about him, to be honest - or, well, he’d like to think he has, but he finds it really hard to forget someone as intriguing as Oliver. At least he _tries_ to forget him, tries to get back to his life before one person occupied his mind all the time. It’s not easy.

Iris leaves him alone about it, mostly, only making a few comments in passing here and there. He guesses it’s because they’ve known each other forever and she picked up on his mood - he definitely does _not_ want to think about Oliver even more, and he doesn’t tell her anything voluntarily, so she lets it go. Still, he can tell she’s half-worried, half-curious, itching to squeeze every bit of information out of him.

He’s fine with not talking about it - it’s not like he’s a secretive person, per se, he _does_ share things, but not when it comes to his love life. Or the lack thereof. Really, he doesn’t want to get into it, so he tries to push it into the back of his mind.

So when he sees Oliver again - while jogging through a park a town over, just because he doesn’t feel like being in Central City lately - he feels like he’s been smacked in the face. Literally.

He keeps a moderate pace - he couldn’t go faster if he wanted to, he’s always been a slow runner - takes his time to look around the unfamiliar surroundings, when someone suddenly crashes into him, sending him sprawling on his side. His headphones tangle as his cheek hits the pavement and there’s a searing pain in his elbow, making Barry curse loudly. There’s a hand on his other arm, then, someone squatting next to him and asking if he’s okay.

It would be the meet-cute Barry’s always imagined happening to him, something that only happens in movies - if the person hadn’t been Oliver.

“I’m fine,” Barry says through gritted teeth. He holds his arm, the sticky wet feeling of blood making him flinch. Oliver’s hand is still on his uninjured elbow when Barry sits up. He does his best to clean up the mess with the tissue Oliver hands him, reassuring him again that he’s _fine_ when Oliver keeps apologising.

Barry already knows he’ll have to call in sick at work - he can cover the small bruise on his cheek with make-up, but his elbow is another story. He groans at the thought of having nothing to do _again_ for at least a week.

Oliver helps him up, places a hand on his hip gingerly, making it hard for Barry to breathe. He doesn’t think Oliver catches on to his problems; he seems concerned still, even though Barry’s alright. It doesn’t even hurt much, really. Still, he insists on making sure Barry gets home okay.

That’s how Barry ends up sitting on the passenger seat of Oliver’s car, clutching his elbow and trying to fight his blush from intensifying at Oliver’s worried gaze.

The drive is quiet at first, save for Barry telling Oliver the part of the city he lives in (he doesn’t want to get too specific, he doesn’t _know_ him after all), until Oliver clears his throat suddenly, making Barry jump slightly in his seat.

“How are you?”

“Oh.” Barry stares at him with wide eyes. _That’s_ what he’s starting with? Really? “Uhm, I’m good.”

Oliver nods, looking content with the answer, before biting his lip. “I want to apologise--”

“It’s fine. Really. I’ve had worse. I’m kind of a klutz.” Barry shrugs.

Oliver takes a deep breath. “I don’t mean that. It was a dare.”

Barry raises a brow. “Running me over was a dare?”

“Going to the club,” Oliver mumbles, obviously trying very hard to keep his eyes on the road.

Barry doesn’t really know what to say - Oliver’s clearly uncomfortable talking about it, he was uncomfortable being at the club, and Barry appreciates his honesty. There are enough lies in his life. And, even though he doesn’t know Oliver, he believes him.

“I’m Barry,” is what he decides on.

Oliver looks at him from the corner of his eye. Barry gives him an embarrassed smile and a shrug, and Oliver’s lips tick up in a small smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Barry.”

Hearing his name come from Oliver’s lips make Barry feel warm and fuzzy inside. His smile grows brighter, more sincere, and it’s like the ice between them has been broken.

Barry leans his head back against the seat with a sigh, relaxing into the butter-soft leather and watching Oliver sneakily. The only sounds in the car are Barry’s directions; although he enjoys the silence, Barry wants to talk to Oliver, wants to _know_ things about him.

“So,” he starts after a few minutes of thinking what he should say. “What kind of dare was it? I mean… You spent quite some money at the club.”

Oliver bites his lip, but his grin is still obvious. “It was someone from work. He called me a bad word.”

Barry huffs out a laugh. “What word?”

“I didn’t understand it.” Oliver gives him a shy smile and shrugs. “He said I would not go to a strip club. I did it. He had to buy me lunch.”

Barry chuckles. “Did you tell him about it, too?”

Oliver sobers up, then, his shoulders seemingly tensing. “No. He doesn’t need to know I left early.”

“Right,” Barry mumbles. “I- I’m really sorry,” he adds in an afterthought. “For making you uncomfortable.”

Oliver shakes his head and frowns. “It’s okay. It was me, not you.”

Barry purses his lips at the cliché line - then stops to wonder if Oliver even knows how cliché it is. “Not really but…” He shrugs. “I just hope we can… I don’t know.” He bites his lip and looks out of the window, resisting the urge to rest his warm cheek on the cool glass.

“Yes,” Oliver mutters. “Yes. We can.”

Barry glances at him, watches him for a moment to see if he’s bluffing, but Oliver’s face is completely neutral. He decides to believe him, anyway, trusts that Oliver would say if he’s bothered by anything that happened. They don’t owe each other anything, they’re not friends, but still - Oliver seems like a direct person. He’d say if something was wrong, right?

Barry shakes his head and clears his throat as they enter Central City. “So, uh. Can I buy you lunch?” Oliver raises his brows but keeps his eyes on the road. “I mean, after I take care of my arm. You know, as a thank you. You don’t have to say yes, of course,” he adds quickly when Oliver still doesn’t say anything. “I just wanted to--”

“Yes,” Oliver interjects quickly, making Barry jump a little. “Lunch sounds good.”

A little taken aback, Barry gives him a smile and directs him to his apartment building. He makes quick work of bandaging his arm and putting on nicer clothes than his workout attire, dabbing ointment on the graze on his cheek. He’s suddenly nervous; is he being too obvious in his attraction to Oliver? Does he come off as annoying or desperate? Because-- Well, he doesn’t think he is, not really, he just wants to get to know the other man. See where it goes. Do… whatever.

Barry has to remind himself that Oliver used to be a client. He’s seen Barry half-naked, he’s paid for a private lap dance, he’s probably watched a show or two. For some reason, it doesn’t bother Barry as much as he thought it would.

It takes longer than expected - at least 15 minutes, Barry guesses - but Oliver doesn’t seem to mind when Barry finally runs down to the car park to meet him, breathless while Oliver looks relaxed, leaning against the passenger door of his car with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Where do you want to eat?” Oliver opens the door for Barry, effectively making him blush against his will. Oliver doesn’t seem to think it strange.

“There’s a small diner a few blocks from here,” Barry suggests when Oliver starts the car. “We could get burgers and milkshakes.”

“That is very American,” Oliver huffs, the corner of his lip twitching in an almost-smile.

“We can go somewhere else--”

Oliver shakes his head. “Where is it?”

The drive is quiet, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence this time. Barry watches Oliver inconspicuously, the way his brows furrow as he’s navigating through the city, the way he licks his lips when they stop at a traffic light.

He’s grateful when the diner is almost empty as they enter, which is-- Okay, he’s not embarrassed to be seen with Oliver, not in the slightest, but, well, he’s a private person. No one in his social environment knows Oliver, save for maybe Eddie and Cisco and Iris all seeing him, but never even having a conversation and… both Eddie and Cisco would freak out if they saw him with Oliver, to say the least, and Iris would give him the stink eye before dragging him off for an interrogation.

He orders fries and vanilla milkshakes for the two of them, shaking his head with a grin when Oliver asks about the burgers. A waiter leads them to a cozy booth in the back, bringing them glasses of water and leaving them with a polite smile. Oliver narrows his eyes at him, staring after him as he makes his way to the kitchen.

“Something wrong?” Barry asks, keeping his voice light, and takes a sip of his water.

It takes a moment for Oliver to reply, still looking at the spot where the waiter has disappeared. “No,” he mumbles after a few seconds and schools his face into a neutral expression.

Barry shrugs it off - it seems like Oliver doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s going on, so he lets it go. Instead, he decides to try to strike up a conversation. “So, what do you do? I mean. Your job. I--”

“Transport,” Oliver answers, looking down at his hands.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to get into it further, so Barry changes the topic, talks about the food here and that he’s sure Oliver will like it. Oliver jumps into the conversation immediately, though not saying much, only occasionally offering his input.

They talk until their food arrives, and then Barry teaches Oliver how to properly eat fries - after dipping them in his milkshake, that is - and-- Barry can’t help but think that this feels an awful lot like a date. With the looks their waiter sends them, he’s not the only one thinking it, but… Well, they’ve never really established the specifics, have they? This is just a lunch, really, between two strangers who’ve gone through several embarrassing situations together, most of them more humiliating for Barry than Oliver. Still, he doesn’t feel embarrassed now, but rather comfortable. It’s _nice_ talking to someone new, someone like Oliver, someone who intrigues him and he doesn’t think he could ever get bored of.

He doesn’t really get much information out of Oliver, and that’s fine - especially after Oliver admits, head ducked and a faint blush dusting his cheeks, that he’s self-conscious about his English. Barry assures him that he’s good, that he’s gotten better since the last time they saw each other, and that his accent _really_ doesn’t bother him. Oliver gives a wan smile but doesn’t seem to believe him, not really.

Lunch is over far too soon for Barry’s taste. He’d love to sit and talk with Oliver for another hour or two, but instead he just pays for their food - despite Oliver’s protests that he should be paying since he ran him over in the first place, he insists - and follows Oliver to his car.

“You know,” Barry begins and leans against the hood of Oliver’s car. “I can walk home, you don’t need to--”

Oliver shakes his head. “You paid. I’ll drive you.”

And that… makes it sound like they, once again, exchanged money for a service. Barry’s aware that that’s not what Oliver meant, but still, he can’t help but wince a little. Oliver doesn’t seem to notice.

A bit reluctant - he’s feeling guilty for being a hassle - Barry gets into the car, looks out the window as Oliver turns the key in the ignition.

This time, it’s not quiet - Oliver talks about moving to the States, how the only English words he knew were “hello” and “thank you”, how hard it is to get a job when you don’t speak the language, _teaching_ yourself that language and finally, eventually, making friends and having work. Barry can’t say he knows exactly what Oliver is talking about, but he can definitely sympathise. He finds himself telling the other man about his childhood, how his mom died and his dad was arrested for it even though it wasn’t him, how no one wanted to believe Barry, how he had to switch schools and, for years after (and sometimes still now), people had only seen him as the boy who lost his mother. Barry doesn’t know where the sudden trust in Oliver and the urge to talk is coming from but he’s not fighting it. It’s not like Oliver seems uncomfortable with it - he’s listening attentively, seems to soak in Barry’s story, offering the small comfort of putting a hand on top of Barry’s at all the right places.

Eventually, he realises that they haven’t moved in a while. In fact, they’ve been in the car park since Barry started talking, and he suddenly feels guilty for taking so much of Oliver’s time.

“I should really go inside,” he mumbles with a small, flustered smile. “Sorry for rambling.”

Oliver shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

They study each other for a moment and-- Barry could be mistaken, but there’s definitely something between them. Tension. Electricity. Something that, Barry has to admit, has been there since their gazes first crossed. Barry’s so close to giving in, but… he’s not sure if it’s just him. He’s misinterpreted these things before, he doesn’t really want another rejection. He likes Oliver, genuinely likes talking to him and being in his presence and he doesn’t want to ruin what could be a wonderful friendship because his stupid feelings get in the way. So really… What is he supposed to say?

“Bye,” is what he settles on. He tries to make his smile convey what he can’t tell Oliver, for fear of scaring him away for good.

But, to his surprise, Oliver’s hand tightens around his fingers when he turns to open the door. It’s ever so slight, almost unnoticeable, but Barry does notice, because he notices everything right now, his senses are heightened and he feels like his lungs or heart or both will burst with the tension. He turns around, and Oliver is suddenly closer than before, eyes soft when they meet Barry’s, looking into them for a moment before wandering down to his lips. Barry licks them unconsciously, and Oliver’s breath hitches almost inaudibly.

Like opposite poles of a magnet they move toward each other, lips meeting over the gear stick; Barry closes his eyes instinctively, melts into the kiss willingly, cups Oliver’s cheek with a trembling hand. He’s sure he can’t be the only one who sees literal sparks before his eyes, who feels hot and cold at the same time, who’s forgotten how to _breathe_. Oliver’s lips fit perfectly against his own, all soft pressure and slightly chapped skin. Barry can’t help but follow them with his own when Oliver pulls away.

Barry opens his eyes slowly, doesn’t want the moment to be over but realises he has to accept that it is, and smiles shyly when Oliver looks at him with wide, surprised eyes and a grin.

“Goodbye,” Oliver says in reply to earlier, and Barry huffs out a laugh.

“Bye,” he repeats, fully realising how dumb he sounds but he can’t _help_ it - he’s happy.

It’s only when he locks his apartment door behind him that he realises Oliver’s expression after their kiss was the first time Barry has seen him smile.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short chapter but definitely one of my favourites

For the next few weeks, Barry feels like he’s floating on cloud nine. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so into someone else - honestly, he can’t even _remember_ his past relationships because this one is so good.

Okay, so they might not have established their relationship status, per se, but Barry is rather certain they’re dating each other. Exclusively. To a stranger, he might even mention that he has a boyfriend; and just the thought of it makes him tingle all over.

Barry knows that no one’s perfect, everyone’s got their little flaws, but he might even go so far as to say Oliver’s pretty damn close to it. He’s not jealous - which, with what Barry does for a living, is important to him, because he absolutely can’t have his partner not recognise that his work is just that, work. He’s attentive - whenever Barry would mention a restaurant or a TV show he likes, Oliver would go out of his way to surprise Barry with it; Barry wants to do the same, he really does, but he’s so wrapped up in his job and this relationship that he barely finds time to organise a surprise. Oliver doesn’t seem to mind; he tells Barry time and time again that it doesn’t really matter to him what they do as long as they’re together. And as cheesy as that is, Barry just about melts every time he hears it. And, not to forget, Oliver’s a _great_ kisser.

So of course, the first time something goes horribly wrong between them is when they’re making out on Barry’s couch.

Oliver’s been in his apartment several times now, for movie marathons and dinners and once to check if Barry really _was_ okay after he ran into a lamppost. But this is the first time they’re doing more than hold hands and kiss chastely and honestly, Barry’s having the time of his life.

So obviously, that’s when he ruins it all.

Barry can’t help but let his hands wander - Oliver’s are on Barry’s neck and in his hair, respectively - down to his thighs, can’t help but groan when he feels the thick muscle covered in jeans, and really why does he wear jeans, Barry thinks, they’re keeping him from being closer to Oliver, so he moves his hand up--

Suddenly Oliver pulls away quickly, staring at Barry with wide eyes, lips trembling and breathing harshly. Barry freezes, heart plummeting when he sees the look in Oliver’s eyes.

“Is… Is something wrong?” he asks quietly. “I’m sorry if I--”

“It’s fine,” Oliver says breathlessly, voice shaking as he rubs his hands on his jeans. “You don’t-- It’s fine.”

Guilt washes through Barry when he realises that he’s, _once again_ , made Oliver uncomfortable. He never means to, really, that’s the _opposite_ of what he wants, but it seems to happen far too often.

“Oliver--”

“Can we have dinner now?” Oliver looks away and starts fumbling with the jacket he’d laid on the armrest of the couch earlier.

Barry nods and gets up. Oliver clearly doesn’t want to talk about what just happened, and Barry doesn’t want to pressure him. Besides, he’s certain Oliver has a good reason for reacting the way he did. _Maybe he’s not ready?_ , Barry wonders as he enters the kitchen. _Maybe he doesn’t want to rush things?_ It doesn’t matter now, Barry decides, what matters is that he makes sure he never makes Oliver uncomfortable like that again.

 

Barry doesn’t find out what’s going on until a week later, and over text.

Oliver isn’t really the type to call or text him, prefers to speak in person - which is why they see each other all the time, not that Barry’s complaining - so he’s surprised, to say the least, to find a message from Oliver waiting for him after a shift at the club.

_**Oliver xx** : I need to tell you something._

Barry frowns. They just saw each other a few hours ago, and he wonders if something happened or if Oliver had kept something from him.

_**You** : Sure. Wanna come over? I just got home._

_**Oliver xx** : Can I write it?_

Barry smiles softly as he puts his bag on the coffee table and sits down on the couch. He knows Oliver is still self-conscious about his accent and his limited vocabulary, and even though Barry constantly assures him that he’s doing well Oliver sometimes prefers writing down what he wants to say.

_**You** : Of course._

_**Oliver xx** : It’s about last week when you tried to touch me and I freaked out._

Barry grimaces. He still feels bad about that, and has apologised multiple times, but Oliver’s told him it’s fine. Obviously it’s not, though.

_**You** : I’m sorry_

_**Oliver xx** : I know. I just want to explain why._

_**You** : Of course, sorry. I’m listening. Or, well, reading. You know what I mean._

He hopes his clumsy texting makes Oliver smile, at least.

_**Oliver xx** : I know._

_**Oliver xx** : (typing…)_

Barry braces himself for rejection, for a half-assed excuse (even though he doesn’t think Oliver could be capable of that, but anything can happen). Instead, he’s surprised.

_**Oliver xx** : I don’t want sex. But I really like you. I want us to be together. Just not that. I’m sorry if you thought it was because of you, and I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore._

Barry feels like a huge weight is lifted off his chest. He’d been convinced Oliver hated him, when all this time he’s been…

_**You** : You’re asexual?_

_**Oliver xx** : Is that the English word for it? Then yes. Sorry I didn’t tell you._

_**You** : Don’t be sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted what I did. And, by the way, I do want to be with you too. I don’t want to stop seeing you, I like you too much for that._

_**Oliver xx** : Thank you. For understanding._

Barry smiles, is about to call him but decides not to. He doesn’t know what state Oliver’s in, where he is, even, and he’s aware how much Oliver hates talking on the phone, that he prefers to have conversations in writing or face to face.

_**You** : It’s okay. I’m gonna have to do some research, and we need to talk._

_**Oliver xx** : I’d like that._

They stay awake half the night texting each other until Barry falls asleep in his clothes, his phone smushed between his cheek and the pillow.

 

The next time they see each other, Barry doesn’t know how to act. They haven’t talked about what Oliver is comfortable with, what his boundaries are. So he just stands in his doorway and looks at Oliver, a small smile on his face, until Oliver rolls his eyes, wraps an arm around Barry’s shoulders and leans forward for a kiss. Barry grins and tugs him inside, gripping his arms lightly.

They sit down on the sofa with the pizza Barry had ordered, their knees bumping together when they draw their legs up. There’s a few minutes of silence before Barry clears his throat.

“So…” he starts, prompting Oliver to say something.

Oliver bites his lip and looks down at their knees. “Are you sure you’re okay--”

“Of course.” Barry frowns a little and puts a hand on Oliver’s arm. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ll never have sex with you,” he says and huffs. Barry stares a little at the bluntness before shaking his head fondly.

“I know. I’m not going to force you.”

Oliver bites his lip again and finally meets his eyes. “You say that now…” he trails off, a hint of concern in his eyes.

Barry’s hand wanders down to Oliver’s to squeeze it in comfort. “I read up a little on this and- Well, I get it. Not… completely, of course, I don’t know what it’s like, but… I wanna thank you. For coming out to me. It’s not exactly the same but I remember how hard it was for me to come out to people, and after reading some people’s stories…” Barry shakes his head as he remembers reading about the bullying, the unacceptance… it hits too close to home. “We’re gonna go at your pace, and whatever you’re comfortable with, if you’re alright with that. I’ve never dated an asexual person before, and it’s not the same for everyone anyway, so… you’re gonna have to hold my hand through it all.” Barry ends with a small shrug and a smile.

Oliver, though, suddenly lets go of his hand, and Barry is about to apologise for overstepping _again_ , but then he has an armful of Oliver, who’s clinging to him and kissing the side of his head and mumbling “thank you” into his ear, his voice trembling a little. Barry smiles and closes his eyes, heart racing.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these are a few snippets from their relationship, some more or less happy moments before shit goes down.  
> also a surprise pairing! hope y'all appreciate it. if you have any NOTPs from the Flash check the end notes to avoid a potential nasty surprise (bc I know lots of people don't like them idk why)

It’s not exactly as easy as Barry expects it to be after their talk.

He still messes up - especially when they make out and he gets carried away, lets his hand wander places that he’s otherwise careful to avoid. Barry feels guilty every single time, and even tries to joke that Oliver should probably just tie his hands behind his back - which, of course, Oliver doesn’t find funny and leaves, saying he needs to be alone. They make up, sure, but Barry still vows to be more considerate. He really _does_ like Oliver, more than he should after only two months, and he doesn’t want to lose him. Their relationship is different from his past ones - better, in a way, although he has to adjust but… he doesn’t mind. At all. He tells Oliver that whenever he’s in doubt that they should even be together, partly to reassure him, partly to see his bright smile.

 

Their first real date - the first time they actually go out and do something together - is, surprisingly, not a complete disaster - Barry’s come to expect the worst, but it’s actually _really_ nice at first.

They go back to the diner where they had their first real conversation. The waiter recognises them; his eyes light up when they enter and he smiles as he brings them menus. Barry returns the smile, blushing brightly as he takes Oliver’s hand over the table.

Oliver insists on ordering fries and a milkshake - just one, he says, so they can share - and Barry agrees eagerly. He feels giddy, a little nervous, because he hasn’t been on a date in _years_. It seems like Oliver has the same problem - he seems nervous, knocks over the salt shaker and almost chokes on a french fry. When Oliver ducks his head, embarrassed and blushing, Barry takes his hand and brings it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

Oliver raises his brows, looks at him a little shocked, his lips stretching into a small, intimate smile that’s only for Barry. They don’t need to say anything; Barry knows they understand each other without words.

After dinner, they decide to go for a walk. It’s still light out but chilly, so they huddle together, arms wrapped around each other and Barry’s head on Oliver’s shoulder. Barry’s made sure they walk somewhere remote, where there’s little chance of running into someone he knows. He’s told Oliver about his need for privacy, and Oliver _gets_ it - Barry’s scared that if someone finds out about them too early, it’ll put pressure on their relationship. Besides, they’ve talked about the possibility of someone from the club seeing them together.

Of course, that’s the moment they turn a corner and literally run into a familiar face.

If he didn’t have Oliver holding onto him, Barry would’ve landed on his ass - at Eddie’s feet.

Barry’s heart stops when Eddie looks between him and Oliver, realisation dawning in his eyes. Before he can open his mouth to say _anything_ , he takes Eddie’s arm and drags him into a side street, Oliver trailing behind them.

Eddie looks furious. Luckily, he has enough common sense to keep his voice down. “Have you lost your mind? _Him_?” he hisses, nodding towards Oliver. “You can’t date a client, Bar!”

“He’s not a client anymore,” Barry argues, taking Oliver’s hand to hold on to. “Eddie, we--”

“I can’t believe you.” Eddie shakes his head, disappointment evident in his eyes. “You’ve always been… And now…”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Barry rushes out, feeling guilty immediately because it sounds like he’s ashamed of their relationship, which he’s _not_. It’s just… “Wells would freak. I’d lose my job. _Please_ , Eddie.”

Eddie takes his time with his answer; he seems to think about everything, his eyes flitting between Barry and Oliver and down to their joined hands and back up. Eventually, he nods. “Okay. I’ll keep it to myself.” Barry’s about to thank him, but Eddie continues, “ _Only_ because we’re friends. And because I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

“We do,” Barry says quietly, squeezing Oliver’s hand in excitement.

Eddie nods again and sighs. “You better not come back to the club, though,” Eddie tells Oliver, not unkindly. “If anyone else finds out they might tell Wells. Be careful.”

Barry can’t help it - he leans forward to pull Eddie into a one-armed hug, the other hand still connected to Oliver. “Thank you,” he whispers into his ear.

Eddie hums. “You owe me,” he teases and rubs a hand over Barry’s back.

They part ways after that, and Barry takes a deep, relieved breath. Oliver suggests going back to Barry’s to snuggle. Barry laughs at his choice of words - he can’t believe how _cute_ Oliver can be - and nods.

 

As much as Barry still wants to keep his and Oliver’s relationship a secret, he knows he can’t keep it from his best friend. He talks it over with Oliver - who _wants_ to meet Iris, mostly because he’s convinced she has a bad first impression from when he came into Jitters and Barry almost freaked out.

When Barry asks Iris if she wants to meet his boyfriend in the near future, well… She punches his arm, _hard_ , for not telling him about Oliver sooner, and demanding Barry bring him over as soon as possible.

They’re all busy - particularly Oliver, who’s started working more to save up for a better apartment than his one room one, as he tells Barry - but eventually they find a date that fits their schedules.

Barry wipes his sweaty palms on his pants when they arrive at Iris’s apartment building. He’s nervous, even though he thinks there’s a pretty good chance that Iris and Oliver will get along, but… well, he’s still worried they might not.

Oliver takes his hands and tangles his fingers with Barry’s with a smile. “It will be fine.”

Barry laughs tensely. “Weren’t you the one who was nervous just a few hours ago?”

“I am,” Oliver shrugs. “But what can happen--”

Barry groans. “You just jinxed it.”

Oliver gives him a funny look and squeezes his hands. “It will be fine.”

They try knocking but there’s no answer, and Barry’s a little worried - it’s not like Iris to just _forget_ their plans, especially not since she’s been texting him for days inquiring about Oliver’s eating habits and favourite foods and drinks and music.

After a few minutes of waiting, Barry gets his spare key out of his pocket; Iris gave it to him for a reason, and if something happened…

He enters the apartment cautiously, Oliver right behind him with a hand on his waist. “Iris?” Barry whisper-shouts, looking around the place. It looks tidy as always, he can smell dinner cooking in the oven, and the table is laid. The only thing that’s missing is Iris.

Suddenly, there’s a loud noise from the bedroom, sending cold shivers down Barry’s back. It’s _definitely_ Iris… groaning in pain?

Barry almost trips over his own feet as he runs through the small hallway, tugging Oliver behind him, and opens the bedroom door with a jolt, immediately regretting it.

Two almost identical screams greet him. Barry has the decency to cover his eyes and push Oliver behind him.

“Caitlin?!” he squeaks, not daring to look towards the bed.

“Hi, uhm--”

“Cait, no.”

“But--”

Barry imagines that Iris is shaking her head and gesturing to him and Oliver.

“So, uh, we’ll just… We’ll let you…”

“Thank you,” Iris interrupts, voice clipped.

Barry leads Oliver out into the living room, keeping his distance when he sees Oliver’s bright red cheeks. Barry wishes _he_ hadn’t seen what he saw, and he can’t imagine what it must be like for Oliver.

“You okay?” Barry asks quietly, itching to rub a hand over his arm.

Oliver nods. “More embarrassing for them.”

A few minutes later, the bedroom door opens again. Iris and Caitlin speak in hushed whispers, saying goodbye at the door with a chaste kiss. Barry tries not to look but he can’t help it - that’s his two best friends _together_. Romantically. It’s _weird_.

When Iris joins them on the couch, Barry clears his throat and sends her an encouraging smile. “So… You and Caitlin, huh?”

Iris huffs. “Yes. You and…” Her eyes widen when she recognises Oliver. “You’re the guy from Jitters.”

Oliver nods and holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Iris smiles and shakes it. “You too.” The look she directs at Barry clearly says ‘ _We’ll talk about this later_ ’.

Iris doesn’t offer any information on her and Caitlin, and Barry is reluctant to talk about how he and Oliver came to be - he only mentions that they discovered their feelings for each other and got together three months ago. That earns him another punch and a “ _Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!_ ” from Iris.

 

It’s the first time they have a sleepover and, well-- Barry’s excited as if he’s 10 and getting to stay away from home for the first time without parents. Although, technically, they’re at his apartment, but still.

Oliver is the one who brings it up, to Barry’s surprise, and he even insists that they do it as soon as possible. The “ _no sex_ ” doesn’t have to be said, and honestly - Barry’s so happy, he doesn’t really care about that. Not anymore.

They go to bed early, like… well, like an old married couple, really, and Barry’s more giddy about that than he thinks he should be.

They talk for a bit before Oliver leans over to kiss him softly and turns around with a sigh, tugging Barry’s arm around his chest and holding his hand over his heart. Barry smiles and kisses Oliver’s shoulder through his thin shirt, listens to his breathing getting more and more even as he falls asleep. Barry bites his lip, rubs his nose over the light hairs on Oliver’s neck.

Oliver’s grip on his hand slackens a little, his fingers wander down to grip Barry’s wrist, and Barry grins. He taps his forefinger on his chest, drawing abstract patterns on his T-shirt.

Before he knows it, he’s drawing the letter “i”, followed by an “l” and an “o”. He’s nervous, sure, but he also knows Oliver is asleep, won’t remember what’s happening. He quickly continues, draws “I love you” on Oliver’s chest again and again, keeps pressing close-mouthed kisses to his neck until he falls asleep.

Hours later, Barry is woken up by a soft pressure on his back. He realises that he and Oliver have changed positions, that Barry is half-lying on his stomach and Oliver draped over his back. He feels Oliver breathe a sigh on his neck, followed by a small, almost inaudible chuckle.

“I love you too,” Oliver mumbles thickly, kissing Barry’s ear and snuggling against him.

Barry’s sure his heart skips several beats, plummets into his stomach before racing up into his throat, making it hard to breathe. He smiles, draws Oliver’s hand up to kiss his palm, and falls asleep happier than ever.

 

It’s all Iris’ fault.

Barry still feels guilty for barging in on her and Caitlin - not just once, but multiple times; he really has to learn how to knock - so, obviously, he says yes to a double date.

Big mistake.

They decide on bowling, because it’s safe and easy and Barry and Iris haven’t been bowling together in _ages_. At first, Oliver seems to enjoy himself - after Barry shows him a few tricks, he’s actually quite decent and even scores a strike for their team.

That’s when Barry notices Caitlin looking at them.

It’s an almost hostile look, all dark glares and the occasional roll of eyes, mainly directed at Oliver; Barry doesn’t get it, they’ve barely exchanged two words beyond introductions. He waits until Iris drags Oliver to get more drinks - and to interrogate him without Barry interfering, of course - to talk to her.

“Cait…”

“Hmm?” She raises her brows and presses her lips together.

“Listen, uhm. You’d say if you had a problem with Oliver, right?”

Caitlin flinches a little, her hand trembling as she takes a sip from her beer. She clears her throat. “I…” Grimacing, she shrugs at Barry and sighs. “Look, I don’t know what it is about him, but… I don’t know,” she finishes abruptly, shaking her head so her hair is hanging over her face when she rummages through her purse.

Barry frowns. “I don’t-- He’s been a perfect gentleman all evening. He wants to get to know my friends. He specifically asked if there was something he could do to impress you and Iris. I told him no, he should just be himself.” Barry shakes his head, biting his lip. “Apparently that’s not enough for you.”

Caitlin’s head whips up, her eyes wide. “What? No, of course not-- I mean. Sometimes people just don’t like each other, you know?”

“I can’t believe you,” Barry mutters. He wants to say more, wants to express how disappointed he is that his best friend doesn’t even try to get to know his boyfriend, but at that moment Iris and Oliver decide to come back.

“He-- Is everything alright?” Iris asks, sounding worried. Both Barry and Caitlin hum without really replying; Oliver raises his brows at Barry when he hands him his drink as if to say _We’ll talk about this later_. Barry nods and takes his hand to press a kiss to his palm, shrugging when Oliver gives him a surprised look.

After another two rounds, Iris insist on grabbing a late dinner; although Barry attempts to refuse and tell her that he’s not feeling well, but he has no chance against her. Despite Oliver’s concerned looks, Barry tries not to let his mood show too much. It’s only when they’re alone in his apartment that Barry speaks up about it.

“Sorry I’ve been acting weird tonight.” He throws a pair of sweatpants to Oliver and turns around so he can change. “It’s just…”

“Did you and Caitlin fight?” Oliver pipes up. Barry hears the rustling of the blanket and turns to face Oliver with a sigh.

“Yeah, she’s… I don’t even know. Did she say anything to you?”

Oliver shakes his head. “No. But I do have a feeling that she doesn’t like me very much.” When Barry winces, Oliver grimaces a little and nods. “It’s okay, I’m sure she’s just looking out for you.”

“Hmm.” Barry lifts the blanket on his side of the bed and sits down, leaning back against the headrest. “Still, I don’t understand--”

“It’s okay, Barry,” Oliver says in a hushed voice, moving closer so their thighs touch. “If it makes a difference, I had a good time with Iris.”

Barry can’t help but smile at that, warmth spreading in his chest. “Maybe a little.” He takes a deep breath. “I have no idea why it’s such a big deal to me that my family and friends like you. I mean, _I_ like you. That should be enough, right?”

Oliver props his chin on Barry’s shoulder and grins up at him. “It’s normal. You care about them.” He presses a soft kiss to the curve between his neck and shoulder. “And just for the record,” he continues in a whisper and yawns. “I like you too.”

 

Of course, Barry should have expected things to go wrong - they always do - but he’s been living in a bubble for months. A big, bright, happy bubble, where he has Oliver and his two best friends are together and his job is secure.

In hindsight, it’s far too good to be true.

He’s on his way home after work, decides to take a shortcut for a change because Oliver’s waiting for him; he’s been looking forward to their quiet date, watching a movie and cuddling until they fall asleep, all day. It’s when he walks through a small park that he notices someone following him.

At first, Barry thinks he’s imagining it. This part of Central City is safe, usually, or he’d have taken a cab or asked Oliver to pick him up. But after three blocks, the person is still behind him.

Barry tries to walk faster, and eventually starts running, but he can’t shake whoever is following him off. Then, when he thinks he’s finally safe and about to unlock the front door of his apartment building, there’s a blinding pain in the back of his head - someone hit him, Barry thinks faintly - and he blacks out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some Caitlin/Iris in this chapter :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings** : canon-typical violence, slut-shaming

Barry wakes up from a loud, cracking noise echoing in his ears, only feeling the sharp pain from the slap a few seconds later. He recognises the copper taste of blood on his tongue when he licks over his lip.

He doesn’t know where he is, it’s too dark to see - it’s cold and gloomy and there’s someone standing over where he’s on the floor, wrists bound tightly.

The person who slapped him - a man, as Barry finds out after hearing his voice - sounds angry; he says something in Russian (Barry has heard Oliver mutter things often enough that he’s confident identifying it as such), almost sounding like a question, but Barry’s not sure. He hasn’t gotten around to learning the language, as much as he wants to - to surprise Oliver, mostly, and to make him smile. Barry could really use that smile right now.

“I don’t understand,” he croaks, voice raw with disuse. He wonders how long he’s been here.

The man chuckles - Barry almost wants to describe it as _evil_. “Of course not, Mr. Allen.” Barry barely has time to think about how the man knows his name before he continues. “Tell me everything you know about Harrison Wells.”

“What?” Barry mumbles, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “He-- He’s my boss, I don’t--”

The man grabs him, wraps his hands around his biceps tightly and drags him upright. Barry barely suppresses a wince. “Tell me,” the man barks, drops of spit landing on Barry’s face because he’s so close. Barry can’t decide if he’s disgusted or scared.

“What-- What do you want to know?” He tries to make his voice as steady as possible. It’s not like he wants to protect Wells, whatever he did; he’s never really liked him, although he’s thankful for his job, but Barry finds him creepy. He’s too curious, too invested in his employees’ lives. Barry just wants to get out of here, no matter the consequences of whatever information he gives the man about Wells.

 

An hour of agony follows. The man keeps his questions too vague for Barry to answer which, of course, makes the man think he’s lying and keeping secrets. He’s slapped, beaten, at one point even threatened with a knife. Barry tries to keep face but he’s _scared_. And exhausted. He still doesn’t know what the man wants from him, doesn’t even know his name, he just wants to get out of here and curl up in his bed for at least two days, preferably with Oliver.

 

Barry watches the blood drip from his face into his lap, watches as dark stains dot his light blue jeans.

He looks up when the heavy door creaks open, eyes widening as his tormentor gets up from his chair quickly, thinking he’ll knock Barry out for good this time. But he only approaches the person who just came in, a handsome man around Barry’s age. They talk in hushed whispers that Barry would’ve understood if they were English. He really regrets not learning Russian now. Still, he tries to read their expressions and gestures as best as he can.

The younger of the two sneers at Barry as he comes closer. Barry flinches when he raises his hand, stroking through his hair gently before gripping the back of his head tightly. Barry groans in pain.

“Tell us,” he barks, fixing Barry with a disgusted, hard glare.

Barry can’t suppress a whimper. “I-- I don’t know anything.”

The young man snarls and lets go of his head, pushing him back against the wall. For a moment, Barry’s sure he will kick him in the ribs, but, with an angry huff, he walks back to the other man and starts whispering something to him.

Carefully, Barry leans back and closes his eyes, trying not to groan in discomfort. Parts of his body he didn’t even know could hurt are throbbing in pain, making it impossible for him to concentrate on figuring out why he’s here, what Wells has done, and on finding a way out of here. But, he promises himself, he won’t give up, no matter what. He has a date to get to, after all.

 

Barry doesn’t know how long he’s there; it could be hours, days, weeks even. He feels his body getting weaker with every passing minute, energy draining from him even though all he does is lie on the floor, trying not to let the torture the two men inflict on him get to him.

He gets a bit of water and a small hunch of bread every so often - he realises the men only want information, they don’t want to _kill_ him. At least not yet.

They always ask the same questions about Wells, the club, what Barry has to do with “the business”. Barry doesn’t know what they mean, tells them again and again that he’s only an employee, that he doesn’t know anything beyond the code of conduct and his work hours, and anyway, he doesn’t even like Wells. They aren’t satisfied with his answers.

At one point he’s so exhausted he can’t make his eyes stay open any longer; they do let him sleep, but not very long or deep. It’s just another way for them to hurt him.

 

Without warning but with a loud crash, the door flies open once more, startling Barry so much that he opens his eyes immediately, hands instinctively straining against their bounds. Barry winces, thinking they brought another person here to torture him, but his heart skips when he sees--

“Oliver?” He doesn’t recognise his own voice, all scratchy and dry.

Oliver’s head whips around; he stares at Barry, who’s trying to crawl toward him and failing because his hands are still bound and he’s so _tired_ , for a moment before yelling at the two men. Barry flinches back; he sounds _furious_ , aggressive, and although Barry can’t speak Russian he can tell Oliver’s not holding back on insults.

After a few minutes of Oliver’s booming voice echoing through the warehouse - and Barry’s head, fuck, he needs _quiet_ \- Oliver finally crouches down next to him. He takes Barry’s hands, carefully removes the rope around his wrists; Barry barely suppresses a groan, hot tears running down his cheeks. He takes a deep breath, immediately regretting it when his chest constricts in pain. He coughs at the dry air, trying and failing to swallow, squeezing his eyes shut at the sight of the bloody skin of his wrists. He practically _falls_ forward into Oliver, wincing when Oliver holds him just a little too tight but not even thinking about pulling away. He’s not strong enough to move, anyway. He focuses on the warmth Oliver radiates, on his smell - clean, citrusy, familiar, comforting. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad to see another person, to hold them, so he sinks into Oliver’s embrace and, without even thinking of feeling guilty about it, makes his shirt wet with tears.

All of a sudden he lands face-first on the cold floor, new pain flaring up in his nose and cheek, as Oliver is yanked from his grip. “No!” Barry yells hoarsely, hysteria bubbling in his chest. Oliver screams what Barry thinks are more curses at the man who drags him away, trying to fight against him but to no avail. Barry tries to concentrate on his face; he looks weary, as if he hadn’t slept or eaten in days. He forgets his own problems for a moment, feeling a pang of worry and sadness in his chest.

The men drag a struggling Oliver to the other side of the hall, tying him to a chair securely so he… so he can’t get to Barry anymore, Barry realises and swallows thickly. He tries to get to him, of course he does, they need to _get out_ , but the younger of the two men is back immediately, pushing him to the floor and digging the heel of his shoe in Barry’s chest. Barry keeps his breathing shallow, doesn’t want the man to be able to hurt him any more than he already has.

Tears still leaking out of his eyes, Barry looks up at the handsome face, staring down at him with a snarl.

“Shut up, Oliver,” the older man hisses loudly from the opposite wall; Barry guesses he’s only speaking English for his benefit. Or maybe to torture him a little more, because he immediately starts cursing at Oliver.

“You idiot.” He starts pacing up and down in front of Oliver. “You just _had_ to butt in, couldn’t stay away even after your job was done, huh?” He stops and grips Oliver’s arms hard, shaking him a little. “Just had to come back for your little slut.”

Barry closes his eyes as Oliver screams bloody murder at the man. He’s not hurt by it, he’s been called _so much worse_ , but Oliver isn’t used to it. He’s never had to deal with the things people say to Barry; they’ve been living in a safe, cosy bubble with barely any intruders, let alone someone who meant harm to either of them.

After a string of Russian curses, Oliver snarls. “I’ll kill you,” he spits out. “I’ll fucking kill--”

The man interrupts him with a laugh. “Touchy subject, eh?” He shakes his head - Barry would almost describe it as _fond_ if he didn’t know better - and pats his cheek. Oliver looks ready to bite his hand off. “Come on, you should be used to it--”

“I’ll kill you,” Oliver hisses again; the man should’ve really taken him seriously, Barry thinks, because Oliver’s kicking his shin _hard_ and, getting up on his feet, swings the chair he’s still bound to around. The man is flung against the wall, lands on his arm with a loud _crack_ , and slumps to the ground motionless.

Oliver loosens the ropes still restricting him, shakes them off, just in time for--

Suddenly there’s a strong arm around Barry, pulling him off the ground, a cold something against his neck that sends a shiver down his spine. Oliver goes still, a calculating expression on his face. Barry wants to yell at him to hurry the fuck up - there’s no time to waste when he’s got a _gun_ to his neck.

Oliver looks determined as he takes a step towards them, but the man tightens his grip on Barry and snarls. “One more step and I’ll pull the trigger.”

Barry… is pretty sure he’s in a movie or something. It’s easier to pretend that this isn’t real than to face reality, he guesses. Rivulets of cold sweat run down his back; the cool metal against his pulse point is making it hard for his heart to beat at a normal pace.

Oliver shakes his head, pain evident in his expression. “Don’t-- Don’t. Please. I’ll do anything. Just let him go.”

“Oliver, no--” Barry croaks, squeezing his eyes shut when the man digs his gun deeper into Barry’s skin.

“Please, Tommy,” Oliver says quietly. “We’re-- We’re friends, aren’t we? You’re my friend. Please don’t do this.”

The man - _Tommy_ , he finally has a name - huffs. “Anatoly was right. We shouldn’t have trusted you with this.”

“Tommy…” Oliver says again and dares to take another step forward.

Suddenly the cold muzzle leaves Barry’s neck, leaving a phantom pressure that Barry wanted to rub away. Instead, Tommy holds him tighter and points the gun at Oliver.

“So you would choose him over _Bratva_?”

Bratva. Russian mafia. Barry’s heard of them before, heard of their business in the States, but he never thought…

Suddenly it dawns on him. Oliver must be _part_ of them, otherwise Barry wouldn’t have been captured. He doesn’t know what they want with _him_ , though - Barry doesn’t have enemies, has never done anything so horribly wrong in his life that they would be after him, unless… unless it has something to do with where he _works_. Yes, he’s pretty sure, it has to be Wells’ fault. The guy has always been suspicious and secretive, and Barry’s never trusted him. For as long as Barry had known him, he’s never revealed any personal information about himself, has always been overprotective of his employees to the point where it got creepy; in hindsight, Barry thinks, it’s not so far-fetched that Wells would have gotten into trouble with the mafia. He seems the type for it. But, then again, Barry doesn’t really know anything about Wells or what he’d done, so why…?

“You used me?” Barry whispers. The pain hits him like a freight train; it feels like the heart in his chest is splitting in two. Had the last months even been real? Had he given everything he had - his time, his mind, his soul, his heart - to someone who doesn’t care about him at all? Barry feels sick.

“No,” Oliver says after a slight hesitation. “I didn’t, Barry, no, I love you--”

“ _Love_?” Tommy sneers and turns his head to look at Barry. “You were a job, sweetie, nothing else.”

Before either of them can say anything else, Tommy raises his arm, snarls, “And now it’s time to finish it,” and, with the butt of his gun, knocks Barry out cold.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dunnnn


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo this is the end. thanks to everyone who took the time to read and comment and leave kudos!! 
> 
> this is also today's contribution for Barryoliver Week. the prompt is Hurt/Comfort and I think that fits really well with this chapter. I hope that's okay (since this was already written before the week started).
> 
> **warnings** : hint at a panic attack

Waking up is like a slow, steady stream tinged with a sharp pain in his… well, everywhere really.

The first time he regains consciousness, he doesn’t actually notice what’s going on around him - he’s too busy focusing on not screaming in agony, feels a soft, warm hand on his face and someone trying to restrict him. Seconds later, he’s gone again.

The second time, things are more clear - he hears a familiar voice say his name, feels a soft pressure against the palm of his hand. Barry tries to open his eyes. Garish sunlight sends a surge of sharp pain through his head; he hears soft footsteps, a curtain being drawn closed, feels a hand on his elbow.

“Barry?”

He groans and turns his head toward the voice, stopping when he feels a cramp in his neck.

“Take it easy,” the voice chides, a hand cupping his cheek. Barry leans into the comforting touch, tries to focus on the soft palm against his skin.

It takes a few moments for his brain to catch up on what’s happening. He blinks his eyes open and sighs when a hand cards through his hair. “Hi,” he tries to say but only manages a quiet whine, throat dry from disuse.

Oliver’s lips spread into a small smile. “Here, drink some water.” He helps Barry lean up, cups his neck and carefully sets the glass to Barry’s lips. Barry closes his eyes as the liquid soothes his throat, coughs a little when Oliver puts the glass back on the table.

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Oliver’s hand is still squeezing Barry’s elbow gently, careful not to pull on his IV.

“So…” Barry starts quietly; Oliver moves his chair closer. “Why are you here?” Everything that happened slowly seeps back into the front of Barry’s mind - how Oliver was part of the Russian mafia, how he had used him for information on Wells, how his friends had beaten and tortured him. If Barry had more strength left in him - both emotional and physical - he’d tell Oliver to leave, throw him out if he refused. But he _needs_ to know.

Oliver shifts in his seat uncomfortably, clearing his throat. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again with a shake of his head, frowning to himself. Barry waits patiently - it’s not like he’s got another choice but wait.

“I never meant for this to happen,” Oliver says eventually, voice thick with emotions. “I didn’t want you to get hurt--”

“That wasn’t my question,” Barry interrupts quickly. “You used me. You-- You were with me to get information for your buddies. I just-- _Why_ the hell are you here?”

A small, self-deprecating smile on his face, Oliver nods. “You’re right.” Barry raises his brow and Oliver sighs. “I was never really… I never _wanted_ to be part of the Bratva. I’m only here because I’ve- I’ve taken over my father’s place. He died a few months ago.” Oliver shrugs. “I wasn’t going to join them, to come here, but… well, you do everything for your family, right?”

Barry’s eyes widen. “So, they threatened you?”

“My mother and my sister.” Oliver bites his lip. “I know it doesn’t excuse--”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” Barry _has_ to stop feeling bad for Oliver. He has to look after himself for once. “You lied to me. For three months. I can’t--”

“I never lied about my feelings,” Oliver interjects, looking shocked that Barry would even consider such a thing. “I love you so mu--”

“And I’m supposed to _believe_ that?” Oh, he wants to. Barry wants to believe every word of it, wants to go back to the way it was before he was kidnapped, but… well, he doesn’t know if he can trust Oliver anymore. He’s dealt with his fair share of liars in his life, and he’s not really keen on continuing this tradition.

“No,” Oliver replies quietly. “Of course not. You’re allowed to be angry, obviously.” Oliver… looks and sounds sincere, at least.

Barry bites his lip. He wants to keep talking, wants to get to the bottom of everything, but he’s exhausted already. “What did Wells do?” is what he settles on, because it’s a safe question and yeah, he’s a curious guy.

To his disappointment, Oliver only shrugs. “I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything. Despite my father’s status, I had to start at the bottom. But, uhm… Yeah, he’s gone. Wells, I mean. He fled.”

Barry nods slightly, anger slowly fading - he’s sure it’s only from fatigue. He’s not believing Oliver yet. “How… Why did they let us go? I mean, I was pretty sure that they’d kill us.” Although he tries to stay calm, his voice breaks on the last three words. As much as he hates to admit it, Barry’s still _terrified_ \- what if they found his family, his friends? Every mafia organisation is a big network of people; someone could have easily been spying on him and the people he knows for months, could hurt them anytime they want.

He doesn’t realise his body is tense, his breathing more frantic and irregular, until Oliver’s hand is on his chest.

“It’s okay, Barry. Keep breathing,” Oliver whispers soothingly, hand stroking over Barry’s chest to calm him down.

After a few more moments of panic, Barry slowly relaxes - he squeezes his eyes shut, burning with unshed tears, as his muscles loosen and his breathing becomes more regular.

“Your family called the police when you were missing,” Oliver explains softly. “I- I called them too. Explained what I thought was happening. They informed the FBI and they came… just in time.” The look in Oliver’s eyes tells Barry that they barely made it out before… something bad happened. Or, at least, something worse than what the two men had already done to Barry.

“Good,” Barry replies. “I… Thank you for being there.” Even though he’s beyond pissed - and not sure he can ever trust Oliver again - in the end, Oliver saved him.

Oliver sends him a sad smile while glancing at the door. “Barry, I-- I have to leave.”

“But I’m not done with this conversation,” Barry frowns. “When do you--”

“I have to _leave_ ,” Oliver insists and bites his lip, eyes downcast. “They’re after me. I can’t stay.”

Barry closes his eyes with a sigh. “Of course,” he mutters. He doesn’t pull his hand away when Oliver interlocks their fingers. “Where are you gonna go?”

When Oliver hesitates, Barry opens his eyes to look at him questioningly. “You know I can’t tell you.” He strokes his thumb over Barry’s knuckles. “You’d probably come looking for me, or do something equally stupid.”

“This isn’t gonna make me not pissed at you,” Barry mumbles, fully aware of how childish he’s acting but, well… Oliver wants to _leave_ , for good. Isn’t he allowed to be cranky?

“I’d rather you hate me than put yourself in danger.” He looks up, slightly alarmed, when there’s a noise outside the room.

“I don’t… _hate_ you. I just don’t know… I don’t know what to think. I’m getting a headache from this.”

“I should go,” Oliver replies quietly, squeezing Barry’s hand tightly. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“What, you were just gonna disappear?” Barry huffs.

Oliver smiles sadly and shakes his head, sighing. “Goodbye, Barry.” He gets up slowly, leans over Barry to peck his forehead.

With the hand not clinging to Oliver’s, he reaches up to grip the short hair on the back of Oliver’s head, tugging him closer and stretching his neck up; there’s a short press of lips on Oliver’s chin, Oliver huffing out a chuckle before pulling Barry into a proper kiss. It’s short - much too short for Barry’s taste, considering it’s their last - and bittersweet.

“Come back,” Barry mumbles and squeezes his eyes shut, not daring to open them even when Oliver lets go of him and he hears the door click shut softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't forget to watch the [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypT84F2GpHw) based off this fic and give the maker some appreciation!!!


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